


Rien ne va plus

by Llamadramaphan



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Crushes, Internalized Homophobia, Jensen likes playing games, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Pining Jensen, Sick Mother, Underage - Freeform, no actual sex folks, please read it anyway tho, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6989332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llamadramaphan/pseuds/Llamadramaphan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen loves to play Games.</p>
<p>Jared is his favourite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rien ne va plus

Rien ne va plus

 

Jensen had always been obsessed with games.

Stupid ones, as his mother would add. Just like all boys do, as his father would say whilst pushing up his glasses farther up his nose.

They were both wrong. 

Jensen was never interested in games like soccer, football or tennis – it were the games one plays with the mind which had never failed to draw him in, capture him, until he eventually either won or lost. 

Sometimes, he liked losing even better. It taught him something. Caused him to retrace his steps and figure out where he’d fucked up. 

And Jared was the best game he’d ever engaged in.

 

When their eyes first met, nothing special happened. 

No cliché quiver, no zap of electricity that rippled through either of them. Just a simple nod, a short acknowledgement of the other’s existence. 

What happened after both their attentions came to focus on something else again, was what actually made the difference. 

It was Jensen thinking, that this boy really had a lot of moles. They were splattered all over the guy’s throat, a bit like Jensen’s freckles, and each seemed different in colour and size.

Jensen thought that it had to be a pain in the ass to get all of these checked out for cancer, every once in a while. Then he thought, that he was being stupid. 

But the moles didn’t let go of him.

What had his deranged grandma once told him? ‘Moles are like angel kisses’…or had that been about freckles? 

Either way, they both had a lot of those, and so his mind went back to the boy as he was sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for his momma to come back outside and tell him the news. 

_ Thumbs up or thumbs down, momma, which will it be?  _

Did the boy get them checked out? 

Well, he hoped so. It wouldn’t be nice for the boy with the moles and that hint of dimples to be in Momma’s position. 

“Hey Jennie.” 

And he knows which thumb it’s gonna be, even before he bothers raising his head from where he’d been blankly staring at the tips of his shoes. 

 

 

He kept carrying the question around for another week or two, as if it was a forgotten about cent in his back pocket, like the secret he’d been carrying around with himself for so long now.

Or the other one, even though that one was more bold.

Momma is going to die. 

The other one, he fears even forming to a whole sentence in his head. 

And since the other one is already scary enough, he doesn’t bother. 

Just carries it with him like he does the damn memory of the boy with the moles and when he’s standing on the train again, phone in hand but screen black, and he sees him again, the question has already jumped to his throat, urging to make an escape through his lips. He keeps them desperately shut, in attempt to look like less of a weirdo, even though he probably already does, due to him continuously staring at the guy and all. And then the guy stares back. 

A twitch of a smile runs through Jensen, perfectly in time with the Boy-With-The-Moles’ one. 

No electricity. 

Just simple interest.

He doesn’t jump to the thought that this would be his new game, not at first. 

At first he just stood there, awkward and unsure of how to act, with the question he wanted to ask the boy burning a hole into his tongue. 

And the other one- the one he was scared of asking himself…that one was burning there as well, maybe even a bit more spiteful. But he kept his mouth shut. Simply forced his chin up and down in a quick, greeting manner, before watching as the Boy with the dimples and moles left the train. 

The memory of the name of the station branded itself into Jensen’s mind without his consent.

 

 

Momma was getting worse, and ‘Mole Boy’ became less of a priority in Jensen’s head. 

He’d still think about him, when he got on the train, accompanied by quick glances up and down the confinement of the vehicle, to see if he was there. He’d think about him in the dark, with the lights shut off. 

More, he didn’t allow himself. 

Because his momma was dying and for some reason, he was left cold. 

Like someone had dipped him into ice cold water, but briefly enough for it not to hurt – but he knew, deep down he knew that it was going to hurt, and when it would, it would tear him apart. 

And so he could just wait, wait for the first sparks of pain, and with every day that passed, his hunger for the pain grew. 

It would be better, anything would be better than this damn numbness, this stepping in the dark, waiting for something to hit or grab him at any second. 

And then he saw Mole Boy again, and this time the second question burned brighter than a damn bonfire, almost entirely eliminated the one regarding the dude’s health. 

Was that bad? 

Jensen supposed so. 

But then again, he supposed many things, most of which never turned out to be either wrong or right in the end. 

They all end up in a grey zone. 

Just like Momma is right now. 

She’s there too, waiting to turn either white or black.

Mole boy had company. A little kid – probably not older than Jensen’s little sister herself, and she kept tugging at Mole Boy’s hand, trying to get him to her level. Which he did – crouching down, she whispered something into his ear, giggling as she snaked brief glances into Jensen’s direction. 

His heart was beating impossibly fast, but Jensen didn’t even hear it. Are you– Mole Boy glanced up (dimples), waving at Jensen a little.

Still, they didn’t talk . Just waved. But it was better than anything Jensen had done the past 24 hours (including that very bad thing he’d done last night) and so he was satisfied as Mole Boy apparently cussed the child out for pointing at Jensen so openly – she called him ‘Jay’. 

Jay. 

And then Jay and his sister (?) left the train, again at the same station as last time, and Jensen kept rephrasing the name in his head, putting it in between words where the name shouldn’t belong – but it did. 

To him it did.

 

 

And again, that was a grey zone.

The game. 

The main event of it.

The main element which was used to play this special game called ‘Jay’. 

Jensen played it with himself, silently, as he was on the train, most of the time with a shopping bag dangling from his arm. The game of Jay, was interesting than no other. 

What will you find out today, eh? 

Jay rides the train mostly around 4 or 5 pm. Maybe that’s the time he gets off school, Jensen figures, but he can never be sure. 

That’s the fun of it, really. 

The grey zone of it all. 

He will probably never know whether or not his deduction of Jay’s age is true (around 16, like himself) or if he really has more than one sibling (There was more than one picture in his wallet he once pulled out). 

He’ll never know, and it makes the game so much better. The more questions, the better, even though the same old one still burns his tongue and throat whenever he swallows it down. 

He’s managed to say the words in front of the mirror now, silently, when Momma finally went to bed after spending most of the afternoon outside on the porch, cigarette caught between shaking fingers. 

At first, he’d wanted to talk to her in the late hours of the day, wanted to use the time they had left with each other – but then something stopped him, and maybe it was the reflection in that one mirror. 

The reflection of who he wasn’t.

And there was that glimmer of hope inside him, that glimmer that was so cruel, Jensen would have never uttered its true meaning aloud. But the other thing, that he could say now.

Quietly, yeah, but it was a start . 

He wanted to tell Jay about it. Wanted to come bragging to him like you would to some old friend after finishing that one level in that game, or after hitting it off with someone both of you knew. 

And then he remembered that Jay (Jacob? Jake? James? Jamie?) Wasn’t his friend. 

Would probably never be. 

He was his new game, and as bitter as that thought felt when he played with it in his mind, he accepted it as the truth. The simple, bittersweet truth. 

_ Jay! Jay, guess what! I finally said it Jay, I finally fucking said it!  _

But he did smile to himself every time the fantasy of getting to know Jay played out in his conscious, smiled to himself like you do when thinking about an old inside joke or secret you shared with someone.

Jensen doesn’t share secrets with anyone. He didn’t tell Kristen much, and she never complained. 

_ Knows I’m having a hard time, knows I’m a poor little boy because of momma. _

And so Jay became his own secret, a secret which he thought about at night, when his sick momma had gone to bed and the house was quiet. 

Quiet, with little boy sounds coming from where he was buried underneath a blanket, as if it would somehow manage to withhold him from the world’s judgemental glances. 

After a while, he didn’t care much about anyone finding out anymore. 

Because Jay was his little secret. 

 

 

The first time Jay talked to him, almost three months had passed since Jensen had thought about the Moles boy in the doctor’s office and his momma had showed him a thumbs down, accompanied by the smile of a beaten soldier. 

And it brought the Jay Game (Or, as he came to call it now – because Jay was just much too personal now, since all the times he’d mustered the name in quiet – the Grey game) to a whole new level. 

"Hey, that seat taken?” 

Such an ordinary question. 

It didn’t fit the extraordinary person Jay had become within the space of Jensen’s mind. 

_ Who taught you to talk with that slight drawl in your words?  _

But his heart was still beating out his chest, so he didn’t mind in the slightest. 

_ Where did you buy that shirt? Do you really like the band, or did you just find the logo interesting?  _

“Sure.” It came out much more behaved 

(“Come on Jennie, behave!”) 

than he had thought it would – was almost angry at himself for sounding so detached. But Jay smiled nonetheless and that smile was what Jensen later thought about while he was lying in bed, doing that thing that was in the grey zone, just like Jay. 

It wasn’t extraordinary, but it fit. And he wanted more. 

 

 

"Sorry, Seat taken?” 

Jensen grins. 

Because this has become a thing now. A fucking thing that happens in his life. 

The game is still going, and it’s going at a pace which makes Jensen dizzy at times. Jay is now almost always there when he gets on the train, and for some weird reason, he’s always standing. 

_ Why do you only ask for a seat when I’m already sitting, Jay? _

But Jensen doesn’t mind. 

By now, he doesn’t even mind saying it in front of the mirror now. 

The words have somehow become his friends, just like Jay somehow did, all within the space of Jensen’s brain. 

He thinks that should be bad (no, it’s grey) but he doesn’t have the energy to do so. 

Momma’s at the hospital. 

They finally shaved her head.

And he keeps coming home from school with bigger worries, with more excuses which he told to Kristen throughout the day. 

He’s not a poor little boy. 

But it’s easier for her to believe so. It’s easier for him to convey. 

Because in reality, he’s not sad.

He’s just frustrated. 

“You should know by now – nope.”

Frustrated because Dad’s still not home. Frustrated, because his sister keeps crying and he can do nothing but lay in bed at night and give himself up for the grey zone. 

“Hey, at least I’m polite!” 

Jay laughs. Jensen loves the sound. 

He images what it would be like to hear it within the confinement of his own bedroom, what it’d be like to not have Jay ask him the same question every time but instead

(“Why do you never talk to me anymore Jensen? What’s wrong?”)

, how his day had gone, what his plans for the weekend were, if they could possibly go out and do something together. 

"Mhm. But let’s just say that you have the right to sit next to me until forever from now on, okay?” 

Jay grins. 

Jensen imagines those stretched out lips against the fabric of his cushions, against his own skin. 

He’s getting dangerously close to the black zone. 

(“Behave Jennie! Jesus!”) 

He doesn’t care. 

“Deal.” 

 

 

_Why are your knuckles bruised? Why the fuck are your knuckles bruised, Jay?_

This time, Jay sits down next to him without a second word – he’s got a bag of gummy worms in his hand, the hand with those ugly (beautiful) marks on them, and Jensen can’t help staring. 

Jay smirks- Nobody should be allowed to smirk like that with their knuckles bruised and their lips bitten raw -holds up the bag a bit higher.

As if that was Jensen’s item of desire. Oh, how wrong he is. 

“Want some?” 

And at first, Jensen can’t answer. 

He doesn’t like gummy worms. They’ve always felt wrong in his stomach, like they’d rather belong into his little sister’s, who constantly goes crazy for them and has him buy them on Saturday nights, before they watch a movie in Jensen’s room, with the volume low. 

But then he nods.

“Sure, thanks.” 

Jared continuously grins as Jensen digs into the bag, drawing two worms out and letting them plop into his mouth. He feels clumsy as he does so, uncomfortable in his own skin – but then there’s this weird blush spreading across Jared’s cheeks- It’s almost summer now, he’s just hot, it’s just getting hotter outside, that’s all -and he’s glad he took the sweets. 

They eat in silence, the train rolling along, accompanied by the usual, comforting noises that form of transport makes and has always made. 

“That must’ve hurt like a bitch.” 

The marks seem relatively fresh. 

_ Did you get them today, Jay? Did you? _

He points at the bruises, immediately feeling stupid as he does so. 

But then Jay just shrugs, that lovable

(BLACK ZONE) 

lopsided grin still portrayed on his pink lips, and Jensen stops regretting the words which he so carelessly just spit out.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Used to have much worse, believe me.” 

Jay doesn’t say it like he’s trying to impress. He says it like someone who is truthful, and sometimes forgets what certain statements will make their counterpart feel or think.

He’s so honest, it breaks Jensen a little on the inside.

(“You’re clearly lying to me, Jensen! And I can’t…I can’t deal with this anymore, okay?!”) 

“Got in a fight?” 

Jay shrugs again, exposing a bit of his tummy as he does. 

BLACKZONEBLACKZONEBLACK-

“Guess you could call it that, yeah. Just had a bit of a…dispute with someone from school.” 

He chuckles at that, rubs his neck in that adorable, awkward way of a teenager who hasn’t grown all that confident within himself and his body yet. 

Jensen wants to get drunk on that motion. 

On Jared as a whole.

Take him home with him-

_ Shhh, Momma’s sleeping! _

-see if he knows any of the books displayed on his big shelf- 

_ Jennie, you shouldn’t wake Momma, you know that! Momma gets real angry when you do that! _

-sit down on his bed and-

BLACK ZONE.

“Ah. Well I hope you got them good for whatever shit they did.” 

“It could have been me who started it?” 

Jensen smiles, without knowing it. 

Like he did during that one time his mother cussed him out

(“What the hell are you smiling about you little bastard?!”) 

and earned himself a smack across the face. 

"Nah.” 

Jared keeps smiling at him, so sweetly lopsided, and when Jensen turns his head just slightly so, their eyes meet. Then the train comes to a halt, has Jared scrambling to his feet.

“See you!”

he calls out as the doors shut behind him. 

Yeah.

Yeah, okay . 

 

 

“’Nother dispute?”

“’Nother sleepless night?”

“Why-“ 

“You just look so tired all the time.” 

Jay shrugs and Jensen subconsciously tries to date the last time he’d slept for more than 4 hours in a row. 

He can’t.

“Well, we’ve all got our flaws, don’t we?” 

“Supposedly.”

They share that quick glance again – a glance that reminds Jensen of the way he used to rush out that particular sentence, as if someone would behead him if he did it too slowly.

The burning need to ask Jay is still there. Burning, burning little holes into his tongue and brain. 

It will probably be over in a few weeks. 

Over by the time school stops and they both have no need to ride the train everyday anymore. 

He wishes there to be one – one crucial purpose for both of them to continue whatever the hell this was, but he knows that he won’t be able to find one in time. And so he just figures

(while slowly erasing the bounds of what is the Black Zone in his mind)

– all or nothing. Which is what he then goes for, in his own shy, incompetent way.

“I’m Jensen by the way.”

_ Jason, Jeremy, John  _

“I’m Jared.” 

And it fits.

 

 

Now that Jensen has another name (the Real name) to hush out at night, the lines of what is Black and grey have slowly but surely started to disappear.

Sometimes they’re there, sometimes they’re not. 

Sometimes his momma still sits on the porch and rubs the dog’s head, sometimes she stays locked inside her bedroom during the day, only to pitter-patter across the hallway at night, like Jensen used to do (and get cussed out for) 

She’s not a nice lady, his momma, that, he’s come to realise. 

And Jared, Jared’s the one thing he still drags his ass out of the house for. 

(“Seriously Jensen. You got to stop. I'm supposed to be your friend, man! You have to allow me to help you!”)

That, and the fact that they still need groceries – especially his little sister, who needs her weekly gummy bears. 

Or rather, Jared, whom he shares them with on his way home from the supermarket. He sees Jared during every single train ride by now, can’t help but figure that they’ve both adjusted their routines to match. 

It helps the breathy sounds he whines into his pillow at night, make more sense. 

While his momma is getting worse

(“Jenny! Come here!”)

,Jared keeps inching closer. 

Not only on the train, where he sometimes puts his hands on Jensen’ thigh as he talks (Jensen always remembers these moments furiously), but just in general. Jensen shares his gummy bears (which he only buys for Jared anyway) and Jared shares his cigs (which Jensen has also come to figure, he’d only bought because of Jensen, since he’d never seen Jared smoke before he’d mentioned being a smoker himself). 

The Grey Game is slowly coming to its end. 

And there’s still that one question. 

 

 

_ “I’m gay.” _

_ He keeps saying it, keeps saying it until his jaw aches from it, until his tongue seems to get into a twist every time he tries speaking. He says it until the realisation has finally reached his brain, says it until he finally feels as if it’s the truth – the truth he’d been searching for so long. _

_ The truth he’d never found in one of his games, whose game it may be.  _

_ (Momma’s, Kristen’s,…) _

_ Because in the end, games were made to either lose or win at, and with that realisation, came the knowledge that that black and white way of thinking wasn’t possible in that case. No case of winning or losing. Just a case of existence.  _

_ And the longer he said it, the more comfortable he became with the idea of telling Momma. _

_ Momma, who’s dying.  _

_ Momma, who won’t be able to cuss and hit and scratch.  _

_ Because she’s tied to a hospital bed and several machines, all trying their best to keep her alive. _

_ And Jensen wants her to _ _.  _

_ He really does. _

_ But not because he’ll miss her lovely voice  _

_ (“You goddamn bastard! Wait till we get home, I swear to god!”) _

_ , but because he knows what it’ll mean, should she pass. It means moving in with Dad again.  _

_ And eventually, that means no more train. No more Jared. And so he wants her to hold on, just for these two more years until he can get a job and support himself, and he can’t help but think that those selfish intentions would have belonged into the Black zone, had it still existed then. _

_ But it didn’t. _

_ It stopped existing around the time that Jared leant over and kissed the cigarette smoke from Jensen’s lips, causing him to get a taste of the gummy bears he used to hate. It stopped existing around the time the question – that one goddamn question – stopped existing, right after the kiss and seconds before Jensen managed to lean forward and attach their lips once more. _

_ And when there’s no Black zone, why should there be any more fear?  _

_ And when he finally goes to the hospital, he knows how the day will end. _

_ That it will end with him, getting tied up in Jared’s body, right on Jared’s bed, as Jared’s siblings rumour around Jared's living room.  _

_ He’s met them all now – Deanna, Sophia, Christopher – and when he steps into the cold, white room, he can’t bring himself to fear any longer.  _

_ "Momma.”  _

_ And she says Jennie again, says it like she used to after she’d hit Jensen for stealing a cookie out of the jar, in that same, dishonest apologetic tone which he’s grown so goddamn sick of.  _

_ And he says the words like he means them – a smack to his mother’s dying face. And he leaves before she can even answer. Leaves to get back home to Jared. _

_ To get his little sister some Gummy bears – this time, they’d even reach her, instead of ending up in Jared’s system on the way – to try and soothe her after the mess he’d made.  _

_ Because the Black zone didn’t exist no more.  _

_ And with it, the Grey Game. _

_ And Jared was still the boy with the Moles, which he got checked out regularly now.  _

_ And it fit. _

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in the middle of the night, over the course of a few hours in which I never even bothered looking up from the computer screen. (Had the same fucking song on loop in the background as well) So, I'm sorry if there's any massive mistakes in this - just enjoy it for what it is - a lovable (hopefully) piece of shit.


End file.
